


No Rest for the Wicked

by cordeliadelayne



Category: Supernatural
Genre: Brothers, Gen, Light Angst, Talking, Too hot to sleep, heat - Freeform
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2016-10-10
Updated: 2016-10-10
Packaged: 2018-08-17 13:28:03
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 913
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/8145755
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/cordeliadelayne/pseuds/cordeliadelayne
Summary: For pheebs1 who asked for Sam and Dean and “too hot to sleep”. Originally posted to Livejournal in 2006.





	

**Author's Note:**

> For pheebs1 who asked for Sam and Dean and “too hot to sleep”. 
> 
> Originally posted to Livejournal in 2006.

Sam lay sprawled out on his front on the motel bed, and then twisted around on to his back. The only sound in the room, now that the air conditioning had died, was Dean’s steady breathing – he at least was having no trouble sleeping.

Sam tried to count sheep, but that didn’t last long. Then he tried reciting all the Latin names for demons he could remember. Then he tried counting how many jobs he and Dean had done since Stanford. But that only lead to thoughts of Jessica. And while thinking of Jess alive was good, it only led to thoughts of Jess dead, which was not so good. He tried to hold on to thoughts of her on their first date, when he’d spilt Coke down her dress, or their first night together, where everything had gone wrong but which had been the best night of his life.

“You’re going to think yourself into an early grave, you know that?” Dean murmured from the other bed. Apparently he’d only been feigning sleep.

“I’m fine.”

“Yeah.” Dean slipped off the bed and padded to the bathroom. Sam watched him through half-closed eyes and tried to block out the sound of him urinating. This room was far too small for the two of them.

He shifted slightly as beads of sweat pooled at his spine. What he wouldn’t do for air conditioning right now.

“Jesus, Sammy, sleep.” Dean sat on the side of his own bed. “We’ve got an early start tomorrow.”

“We always have an early start.”

Dean slumped back on to his bed. “Sleep.”

Sam rolled over to his side and tried to get comfortable but it wasn’t happening. “What do you remember about Mom?” Sam could practically hear Dean’s eyes roll.

“We’re going to do this? Right now?”

“I was just…forget it. Go to sleep. I’ll go for a walk or something".

“Her hair.” Sam stopped moving. “She had lovely hair. She’d sit in front of the mirror every night just brushing it.”

Now that he’d started, Sam didn’t want Dean to stop. He knew he needed to get the next question in quickly. “Did Dad talk about her much, after I left?”

There was a small hitch of breath from the side of the room, but other than that Dean didn’t make any reply for a long time. Sam wondered if he’d fallen asleep. Or if once again he’d stumbled onto one of _those_ topics that Dean never spoke of.

“Dad doesn’t talk about Mom. You know that.”

“He talks about her all the time,” Sam replied, confused.

“No,” Dean said, sitting up. “He talks about the night she died. He talks about the Demon. He talks about revenging her death. He doesn’t talk about her. Do you know how they met? What their first date was like? No. He doesn’t talk about her.”

Sam thought it over, his brow furrowed as Dean walked out of the room on to the grass where the car was parked. Sam watched him pacing up and down, warring with himself over whether to go out there or feign sleep when Dean came back, only to see Dean suddenly stride out in the direction of the bar. No doubt he’d just spotted the redhead from earlier.

His head aching – there must be a storm coming – he turned over on his side and curled into a ball. But that only made it worse so he resumed lying on his back, trying to think cool thoughts. Just as he was drifting off to thoughts of ice cubes something cold and wet trickled down his face. Eyes blinking open he sat up suddenly, only to find Dean standing over his bed, an insufferably smug look on his face and a cold bottle of beer in his hand.

“You could have said something,” Sam muttered as he snatched the bottle and took a refreshing swig, swallowing hard.

“Where’s the fun in that, Miss Crankypants?”

Sam shot a death glare at his brother, who only laughed and flopped back on to the bed, shoes and all.

After a few more gulps for courage Sam decided he just had to break the (almost) companionable silence.

“You find Vicky again?”

“Vicky?”

“Redhead.”

“Thought her name was Rachel?”

“Rachel was the girl at the gas station.”

“Huh. Guess _that’s_ why she slapped me.”

Sam couldn’t help grinning at the bemused look on Dean’s face. “You called her by the wrong name?”

“Hey, lotta things on my mind, can’t be expected to remember every pretty girl I meet.”

“You’re incorrigible.”

“Making words up now, huh, college boy?”

“It means…”

“Yeah, whatever,” Dean replied, shutting his brother down. Sam realised belatedly that Dean was joking. Probably. What could he say to change the subject? Dean’s phone ringing did that for him. They both looked at it for a beat before Dean read the message. He took a final swig of his beer and kicked off his shoes.

“Dad. Co-ordinates.” He turned on to his side, away from Sam, and put the phone on the pillow next to him. “Get some sleep, Sam.”

Sam left the rest of his beer and stretched back on the bed. He closed his eyes and tried to regulate his breathing. He turned over on to his side, sweat still sliding down his body.

Sighing quietly to himself he got up and headed outside. Maybe a walk would help.

Dean turned over to face the door and waited.


End file.
